Whether
by cottontaildwarf
Summary: Conscience doth make cowards of us all. (I do not own Frozen or any of Shakespeare's plays.) Slow. RoTG crossover. On Hiatus.
1. To Be

**I**

**To Be**

She walks in the dark.

For some reason she can't explain she's going much faster than she needs to. No one is waiting for her. There is no one she needs to meet, to be on time for, and yet she's borderline running to her destination.

She's made this trip so many times she anticipates every tree, branch, vine, and pebble in her path three obstacles before she has to move to avoid them.

An icy pathway follows behind her and she slows when she notices it. Taking a breath so deep she feels a little dizzy, she clears her head and the breeze that follows her now is significantly less noticeable.

Except now, instead of only hearing the whistling of the wind in her ears, she can hear every snap of the twigs she brushes out of her way, the clink of her shoes against every stone pushing up at the earth. She can hear _everything_.

_Conscience doth make cowards of us all._

She exhales in relief when the soil becomes softer and she can see the glint of something sparkle a little ways away. She doesn't know why. Nothing in the dark can hurt her, nothing can or wants to get its hands on her; rather, it is she who they are afraid of.

She supposes that the only reason she would have to be afraid would be if she met another one of herself in these woods.

She stops at the edge of the lake and surveys the clear, unblemished surface. A perfect copy of the clearing and sky projects itself on the face of the water.

Perhaps it is because of the angle of how she bends over to see but her own figure is a shadow in the reflection – an interruption in the beauty of nature.

She wishes she could be cynical and make some sarcastic remark about how even the moon does not wish to illuminate her. But then she realizes how pathetic she must be for having to make such excuses to anyone, to her_self_.

What _shame_.

Subconsciously, she stands up straighter, and then her full figure is perfectly brightened enough to be breathtakingly a part of the beautiful picture before her.

It is as if the moon itself has tilted for her just so she could see, Elsa, don't be a fool, you are no fault in the picture I paint. She smiles and the image looks better to her with one less frowning queen in it.

She kneels before the water with a concentrated furrow in her brow and extends her arm so that only the very tips of her fingers dip into the liquid.

It must be frigid in temperature to any other Arendellean – or any normal person, for that matter – but she feels warmth envelope her hand.

Too soon the water begins to crystallize around her fingers and lets out a small huff before focusing on her palm, forcing the snowy control flowing through her to recede back up her arm.

It takes a minute but slowly, the water returns to normal and she exhales a little.

Today it is much easier than it was last night. She recounts crystallizing half the lake and then watching as it took almost two entire hours for the body to thaw out, and the trudge back up to her palace in defeat.

But things always get easier the more times you attempt to do them.

She pulls her hand out quickly and the droplets freeze and fall off in the cold air. She looks hard at the lake.

It had only been once but she remembered seeing trolls clearly, the boulders that rolled out to become fully sentient (albeit miniature) beings and save her sister.

_Save her sister._

A good thing, too, that such fae creatures exist, for there needs to be something to combat her own dangerous abilities. A murderer before turning ten, she would have been, had it not been for the fact that trolls were real.

She shudders.

_There is a divinity that shapes our ends._

The oldest one had told her that she needed to learn to control powers.

She wants to scream.

Control her powers? True love will thaw a frozen heart?

Was it not important enough for them to mention the fact that the entirety of her fears would not dissipate once she brought her sister back to life?

Was it not important to tell her that no, Elsa, you will never forget how close you were to killing your own blood twice, you will never forget the feel of her crystallized body in your arms, the feel of your ear against her unmoving chest and to hear not the beating of a heart but the deafening sound of _silence_?

Trying to distract herself she looks up to the sky and finds that the moon looks unusually large tonight, unusually round, unusually perfect. It lights up everything for as far as she can see but she can _look _at it.

It is not too bright or too warm or too imposing. It is not the sun.

The moon is blemished with numerous gray marks that do nothing to lessen its beauty. It illuminates without blinding the watcher and it does not outshine the other stars that twinkle alongside it. The moon is an imperfect perfection and how Elsa wishes she could be, the _moon_.

She knows she's been up too long when she feels as if the celestial body is calling her. Shaking away the tendrils of sleep she turns around and trudges back up the mountain to where her empty castle awaits her return.

It takes more effort to climb up the hill than usual, but the night seems to be having its strange effects on her. She counts her steps as she walks simply because if she doesn't focus on something mundane and mind-numbing she'll go into a self-depreciating state again and really, what kind of queen would let herself be caught in such a situation?

When she hits three hundred mini half-steps she can't take it anymore and lets whatever thought is the strongest spring up in her mind.

Anna and Kristoff's wedding is in a week.

The edge of the forest is in view, where the soil gives way to rocks and life gives way to the cold. It is from there that she will be able to see the edge of her snoozing home city, blissfully unaware of their queen's inner conflict.

After all, there are only three people that know about her recent nights spent at the ice castle and they have no reason to suspect anything.

_Who wouldn't want to spend more time in a masterpiece like that?_

Elsa found that she adored her almost brother-in-law (his love for ice was a bonus. Anna just seemed to attract all the snow lovers.) and his excellent way of handling her sister.

They were closer by blood, but the coronation ball was Elsa's first actual conversation with humans in three years. And before that, the only people she ever spoke to were her parents. It was (and still is) safe to say that her people skills are rusty.

Often she would be having a conversation with Anna and it would end up being Anna having a conversation with herself and her sister just soaking up every word like a sponge but regurgitating nothing.

An excellent listener, but a terrible conversationalist.

Besides that she sometimes watches people as they go about doing some of the most normal things without even realizing she makes them uncomfortable, something her advisors always point out to her.

She can't help but stare, because normal people are so interesting. So different. Normal people get into fights and fall in love and hug and kiss and shake hands and greet each other like it's no big deal. To them, it probably isn't.

But she always makes sure she wears gloves and full body wear every time she leaves the confines of her castles.

Thank Odin, she's reached the edge and her castle is in sight to her right and she's panting. How out of shape _is_ she?

Then she feels something she's not used to out here.

Heat? Her head snaps to attention to the scene to her left. Her eyes widen and a choked gasp crawls out of her throat.

The flames are so large she can feel them from here, violently burning up the edge of one of the docks. They dance dangerously close to the village but no one has noticed them yet.

She takes a moment of stunned silence before almost falling over herself pulling up her dress and sprinting down the side of the mountain. The people, the people, her people.

_Something is rotten in the state of Arendelle._

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	2. Or Not To Be

**II**

**Or Not To Be**

She runs to the light.

The fire burns, ravages the land below her, and she can't get to it fast enough.

She hears the screams before she sees the people. It is a home by the pier that is already attracting a crowd of people frantically trying to put out the flames.

When faced with such a situation, people will lose rational thought. The amount varies from person to person but it is guaranteed that there will be some kind of hindering to their reactions.

By the time she stumbles down to the cobblestone roads there is an enormous gathering that has successfully contained the fire but not put it out yet. Some of them call out and she doesn't realize why until she hears people calling back from inside.

"Help! He-" the young woman's cry is cut off by the sound of her suffocation. Elsa can't see her but she can pinpoint the window the voice is closest to and thanks the gods above that the woman has enough of her senses to stay on the ground and not get too close to the paned glass that could shatter at any moment.

"Queen Elsa!"

"Our Queen!"

"Please, please help me," A man comes to her, gripping her sleeve. He fights back tears and parts of his clothing are burned from the front and the side. "My wife – my son, he's only nine years old–"

She wants to cry, too. She's only twenty one, and this man wants her to save his family from a dying fire?

Right. She can control ice. It must've upped her maturity as well.

_I must be cruel only to be kind;_

She briefly hates herself for having these thoughts cross her mind before she concentrates on the home before her. Stunned, the villager loosens his grip on her sleeve and watches as ribbons of frost shoot from her fingertips and into the house gushing with fiery light.

She changes strategies almost immediately and yells for someone to get a ladder tall enough to reach the second story window. When the small whirlwind in her palm is ready she yells, "Stay down!" to the woman inside and hurls it at the glass.

There's a crash-crackle-crash as it shatters completely and the frying pieces hiss as they meet the damp cold of the pavement.

The other townspeople are ready and the ladder hits the side of the home with a heavy thud and instantly two men are climbing up and peering inside.

The first one leans in and picks something up, then passes the unmoving heap to the man beneath him, who passes it to someone else on the ground, who sets the heap down. A few moments later and the woman who was screaming earlier is safe and out of the home, sporting a few small burns on her arm but nothing major.

Elsa finally sends a small wave of snow to bury the home and it collapses instantly. The fire is snuffed out, just like that, and she feels that it was probably just as easy putting out that house's fire as it was almost putting out her sister's.

The thought makes her feel sick.

"He's alive! My son, my baby,"

"Thank you so much," The villager from before regains her attention, not even glancing at the frosty ruins of what once was his home. "Thank you for saving my family."

She wishes she could have done the same for her own.

"There is no need to thank me," Elsa says with a polite smile.

Suddenly, she can feel the ache in her legs and the stinging in her lungs. The edges of her vision are fuzzy and she feels as if she might be rocking on her feet. The villagers cheer but all she can hear is a faint ringing in her ears.

Adrenalin is very short-lived, she realizes, slumping a bit despite herself.

_Thus bad begins,_

"I'm sorry, I will provide you with a new home immediately," She manages, but thankfully the man's wife swoops in.

"No no, that's alright. For tonight we have friends who offered us a place," She says.

Elsa wants to hug the dear woman, who gives her a look full of motherly instinct. "You rest, Queen Elsa. You can still help us in the morning." She then hurries back to the now-moving heap covered in blankets, whom Elsa guesses is her young son.

She thanks him and bids the rest of the crowd farewell for the night and begins walking back to the royal castle.

Anna always keeps the gates open now, bless her heart, and never turns anyone away no matter what time it is.

The guards, albeit surprised to see their queen covered in soot and half-asleep, quickly usher her inside to the nearest bed and decipher her mumblings to be an order to wake her at dawn.

When she is finally alone in one of their guest rooms she lays down on one of the beds and looks up at the ceiling.

Now that the option of sleep actually sits before her she doesn't feel as tired anymore, and feels conscious enough to be able to think some deep thoughts before drifting off into the world of her unconscious.

This was actually the hardest part of her night, every night. It isn't that the bed is too warm, or that the room is too silent, or that the walls are too closed in. It isn't the color of the windowpanes or the faces in the paintings, or the statues of the Valkyries that sit on the mantelpiece; it is all these things.

Everything, every little detail of the foreign room, brands itself into her mind and she can't help but incorporate it into the nightmares that await her if she closes her eyes. And in the morning she will not be sure if she is awake or asleep because everything will be exactly as she leaves it in her dreams.

She hopes against hope that it will be her sister who wakes her.

_And the worse remains behind._

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	3. To Suffer the Slings and Arrows

**III**

**To Suffer the Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune**

She wakes to a familiar voice singing away in her ear and furrows her brow. Who could be this loud this early?

There's a loud shuffle as the same intruder springs open the curtains and sunlight pours itself onto her face. With a groan, she attempts to bury her head beneath her pillow but like her sleep, it too has been snatched from her.

"Elsa, it's _sunny_!"

And how great it feels not to hear those words muffled through a door.

"Goodness, Anna, give me five more minutes."

"But _no~_!" The princess replies, tugging at her sister's blanket. "Wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwake-"

She mouths swears but groans loudly before turning to lie on her back. "What is it, Anna?" She asks, yawning halfway through the question. She covers her mouth out of politeness.

Though they are sisters, she still feels a bit unfamiliar with Anna. Like with her parents as well, she doesn't feel comfortable with her sister (or anyone, for that matter) seeing her sleep, or yawn, or stretch in the morning. All they ever saw was the prepared Elsa.

She resists the urge to run a hand through her hair and lets Anna catch her breath. Anna did always need to take a deep breath before speaking for the simple fact that she wished she had more time to get all the words out as quickly as possible.

"You'll never guess what happened last night," She says with a semi-serious expression. That was always the closest to solemn she could get.

"There was a fire?" Elsa slides out of bed and picks the pillows up off the floor.

"Whoa, how'd you know? And wow, you look great! Did you make that?" She gestures at what her sister is wearing.

Elsa glances down at the dress she is wearing, and remembers belatedly how it was almost burned last night. The light blue fabric stopped at a little below her knees and was hemmed with Arendelle's symbol in a darker purple.

"It's mother's," She replies.

_My words fly up._

"Mom's?" Anna replies, a little more slowly, a little more quietly. She looks as if she wants to touch it.

Elsa knows all of Anna's expressions – and who wouldn't? She's a complete open book – and she recognizes the look of a child when it wants something it does not have. She makes a mental note to slip this gown into her sister's closet after changing.

"There was a fire?" Elsa prompts, turning away to fix the bed.

Anna snaps out of her reverie – "oh, right," – and hurries to the other side of the bed to help her sister. "Well, there was a fire, and no one got hurt, but these people needed a place to stay, and I gave them one of the new homes on the coast – was that ok?"

"The coast? Those are fine," Her older sister assures, patting down the comforter.

"And and and one more thing," the brunette hops over to the blonde's side and curtsies dramatically with an envelope in her outstretched hand.

"What's this?"

"I don't know, what is it?" Anna asks excitedly as her sister turns the small package over in her hand. She doesn't recognize the seal immediately but once she does, she doesn't know what to feel.

"It's from Corona."

"Corona?" Anna does not recognize the name. Of course she doesn't; Elsa was the only one besides their father and his advisors who studied politics in Arendelle. The Crown Princess had to know everything about ruling a neutral kingdom if there was no male heir.

"You remember, mother's sister's country? The Crown Prince and Princess were at the Coronation Feast,"

"Um, what did they look like?"

Elsa shakes her head and gives a small smile as she pulls out the thick, folded paper.

"What's it say?"

"Calm yourself, Anna, I haven't even unfolded the letter yet."

"Hurry~"

Obeying her sister's wishes she skims the page. "It says that they would love to attend your wedding–"

"Really? Yay! The more the merrier!"

"–and that they were wondering if we had any more surprises planned." Both sisters give a sheepish laugh. "Is that all?"

"But wait, there's mooooooore!"

"How much mooooooore?"

"Just one mooooooore," Anna promises and pulls her sister out of the guest bedroom, leading them both down the hallway.

"What is it?"

"We have vi-sitors~" Anna sings excitedly. "There's people here to talk to you from the neighboring lands. They brought _gifts_!"

"Anna, I can't greet them in a _nightgown_,"

"It doesn't look like a nightgown."

"It doesn't matter, I need to be presentable."

"But you're always presentable."

This, Anna, is the reason that I am the older sister. Elsa sighs. "I'll be quick."

_My thoughts remain below._

"Okay!"

When she enters the main ballroom later dressed in her signature Snow Queen gown, there are cheers. It seemed as though the entire village has gathered in anticipation of something.

She smiles at everyone in the crowd – she had long ago memorized everyone's names and faces – and makes her way to the raised platform at the front.

"Woohoo! Queen Elsa!"

"You're awesome!"

"Ice beats fire any day!"

She chuckles at the small group of kids huddled by the side of the throne who are shooed away moments later. A short, portly man makes his way to the Queen's side and gives a grand bow. His smile is warm. "My Lady Elsa."

"Mister Andersen," She greets. "Would you please enlighten me; what's going on?"

"You have two visitors madam, both representing different nations."

"Why are they visiting a neutral nation?"

"They haven't said," He steps back and then stands perfectly still like a statue.

"People of Arendelle," The moment her strong voice resounds, everyone in the room is hushed. There's shuffling as a tall blonde leads his fiancé out of the crowd and to the stage. Elsa has to try not to laugh. "We have visitors."

Andersen steps forward, puffs out his small chest, and booms "Mister Hook Hand, of Corona."

Elsa bows a little in greeting.

"No need for that, miss," The burly mustachioed man replies, bowing. "You're very beautiful."

The Snow Queen smiles at his strangely refreshing person. "Thank you, sir. You're not so bad yourself."

He blushes, then clears his throat. "I was sent a little earlier than needed, but the Princess back in Corona was wondering if you needed a pianist for the wedding–"

"You play the piano?" Anna cuts off and Elsa mentally rolls her eyes. Her sister proceeds to attack the man with questions and, soon, they're engrossed in conversation.

Elsa watches the commotion build as everyone makes suggestions for Anna's wedding and Kristoff tries unsuccessfully to regulate the conversation. "The other guest, Mister Andersen?"

"Ah, yes, he's waiting for you in the king's study,"

She follows her advisor out of the ballroom and down the lit hall. "What's his name?"

"Prince Felix of the Southern Isles."

_Words without thoughts never to heaven go._

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	4. To Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles

**IV**

**To Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles, and by Opposing End Them**

She opens the door and takes a moment before striding in with the confidence every queen must have.

The man who awaits her inside had been reading one of the books from the far right shelf and looks up upon her entrance.

His hair is the same warm color as Anna's, and it's almost shocking what a resemblance he bears with his brother. The same side burns and hairstyle, the same polite smile. Although he is a bit taller, looks a bit older, and does speak in a quieter tone.

"My lady,"

"Your Majesty," Both bow with the grace of royalty. "Shakespeare?"

He's puzzled for a moment before he remembers that there's a book in his hand. "Ah. Yes. Do you enjoy his writing?"

"Yes, but I don't think you've traversed eighty miles of sea to come to talk to me about _Romeo and Juliet_." Quickly she pulls them into focus and, taking the hint, the prince sets the book back on the shelf. "Please, have a seat."

A tea table divides their couches and servants immediately fill the empty space with refreshments.

"How is your brother?" Elsa asks, and the man before her gives a small half smile, half frown.

"Oh, he's been getting his share," He promises, then sits up a little bit straighter. "Which is part of the reason I have come. My name is Felix Beyer of the Southern Isles. I'm the Crown Prince, and Hans' older brother, and I've come to apologize for his shameful conduct. He's a very childish brother."

"Seems to want things he can't have."

"I am very deeply sorry."

"You don't need to apologize; I think getting knocked unconscious by a girl half his size did the trick. I hold no grudge."

"Thank you." He thanks one of the servers for the tea and takes a sip. A smile plays on the corner of his lips.

_One may smile,_

"But that doesn't mean I'm ready to open Arendelle to the Southern Isles for trade just yet." She clarifies.

He meets her gaze and sets his tea cup down slowly. "Right." She watches casually as he sets his shoulders back, bringing him up to be even taller than he already looked. "Well, that isn't the reason I've come, either."

Now she's confused. She glances over at Andersen who, confused himself, is whispering orders to the butler at the door.

Prince Felix puts both hands on his knees and turns to face the Snow Queen fully. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing, choosing to wait for him to speak.

"I presume you've heard of the war brewing in the North?"

She hasn't, at all. Thankfully she doesn't let her surprise show and he interprets her silence as a sign for him to go on.

"There's only been talks of war, so far. They're thinking of over throwing the monarchy in the Northern Scandinavian countries, starting with the small, off-the-border neutral kingdoms."

Ah.

"And you would like to offer us something – protection, maybe?"

"…you really are just as perceptive as they say," He replies, rolling his shoulders. "We of the Southern Isles would like to offer you protection from the other powers, should they fall." The look in his eyes makes it clear he is sure they will.

"In exchange for?"

"The reopening of trade routes through the North Sea to my country and its allies, without any tariffs on products we export to you…" a man she doesn't recognize – probably Felix's butler – steps forward and lays an unrolled document on the table in front of her.

She picks it up and reads along as he speaks.

"…and, to seal the deal, a binding contract."

_A binding contract_.

He knows she knows what he's talking about, and so he does not elaborate on the details of such a union.

"Some time to think it over?"

"That would be greatly appreciated," She replies, standing just as he does. She surprises him by holding out a hand for him to shake, but he takes it without question. "Please accept our hospitality for the duration of your stay here in Arendelle," She says, and her own Arendellean butler leads the prince and his personal servant to one of the empty rooms in the castle.

She smiles at him when he looks back. He nods and keeps walking.

_And smile,_

She jumps when she feels the touch on her arm and turns to look at the interrupter of her thoughts. "Mister Andersen."

"I sincerely apologize," He says, giving her a deep bow. "I didn't believe it was of much importance to you because they were just rumours, and it was not affecting our country or any of its allies,"

She honestly feels irritation t him for not reporting to her of these 'rumours' – rapidly-growing ideas of coups that she had to learn about from a _Beyer_.

When was he actually planning to tell her? Right before they were invaded? Before, or after the wedding she would have to have in order for there to be a union between them and the Southern Isles? Wasn't he by her father's side for more than thirty years? Shouldn't he know _better?_

She sighs internally and then tells him she is not well. Although its barely been a couple of hours since she woke up she feels the exhaustion of being a ruler already, something she thought she would get used to eventually but never actually has.

In her mind she counts to herself how many lies she predicts she will tell today. Most of these will be expressions she will make, to tell people she is fine, or she doesn't mind, or that there is no problem at all.

Of course there's a problem. They expect a twenty-one year old to solve all of their myriad of problems, when most of the citizens aren't even aware of their country's isolationist status.

They expect an orphan to be able to feel comforted by familial love. They expect a woman who spent her entire life living like a damned creature to suddenly become the most social, the most kind, the most charismatic ruler to ever have reigned, and even though she _knows_ that they are unrealistic and that it is a goal she probably will never reach, she still does not wish to disappoint them.

She wants them to be proud.

_And be a villain._

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	5. To Die

**V**

**To Die**

It is the first time in many years that she has woken with tears in her eyes.

She is covered in sweat and her blanket is knotted all around her from her constant tossing and turning through the night. She feels like she has not slept for a single moment.

She lays in bed debating whether or not she should get up because she knows if she does, then she will not be able to go back to sleep. After a minute of failing to catch the ribbons of sleep she gives up and rolls off the bed.

Her plain white gown flows around her, thin yet warm, and she is glad that it still smells like her mother. When she turns to fix the bed she is glad she woke before anyone else.

Jagged lines of icicles crack up the walls on either side of her bed. One layer completely encases the headboard in thin frost, but many other signs of her powers being used out of consciousness litter the room.

She presses her hands to the walls and wills the spikes to disappear, to fall off, to become _invisible,_ but all they do is shrink. She resorts to breaking them off with her hands and scrubbing everything until the friction causes the water to melt.

She can't stay in this room. Not anymore. _This _was the reason she had slept in who knows how many rooms in the palace, because the images of frozen walls would forever be embedded in her memory.

She slips through the creaky hall door and heads out to the balcony, but then changes her mind halfway and decides to head out to the tower instead.

Her hair falls around her shoulders, almost the same color as her dress, as her bare feet feel the carpet for the first time since she locked herself in her room. There were many things she hadn't done since then.

She is glad the only guards tonight are situated by the doors and she won't be seen at the top of the main bailey by anyone. She won't be interrupted by anyone.

It is chilly outside, but she can only tell because of how much her hair whips around and not by the temperature. She grins.

_In my heart,_

Before she can even think of what to do the ice ribbons shoot out of her fingertips and into the night sky, aimed up towards the moon before breaking into snowy bits. She lets the wintery powder coat her hair and shoulders, relishing the feel of snow. Summer was never her favourite season.

She thanks the gods it is almost over and then feels guilty immediately, remembering how it's actually her sister's, Kristoff's, and Sven's favourite season.

Summer isn't _that _bad, she reasons with herself.

She suddenly finds inspiration gazing at the castle gardens from up here, where the rose bushes are in full bloom. She fashions a bud and stem out of ice, focusing on it until it becomes hard, crystal clear ice.

With right thumb and forefinger she fashions petals and slowly opens the rose in her hands, focusing on each and every curve of its body. Roses have been Anna's favourite flowers ever since they were children; not the dark red ones that women in the village seem to love to get from their husbands, but the soft yellow ones one had to work to find.

By the time she finishes and is actually _satisfied _with the final product it is the size of her palm and sparkling. She sets it down on the wooden chair usually occupied by a scout and looks up to the moon.

"Hello," She whispers.

She blushes, then, because she has absolutely no idea why she felt the need to greet the white orb floating in the sky.

The wind whistles in her ears and, easily altering her train of thought, she turns her mind to other pressing matters, like the one of the guest residing in the east wing of her castle.

Felix Beyer, brother of Hans Beyer of the Southern Isles, is the exact sort of man her mother and father had told her she would marry. They never would force her into a marriage, of course, but when it comes down to it she knows that he is what they wanted for her – tall, fair, handsome, an educated prince, and a man who knows when to back down.

She honestly holds great respect for him already from just what she saw in one conversation and she wonders what more there is to learn about the Crown Prince of the Southern Isles. She wonders if she'll take him up on his offer.

_There is a kind of fighting-_

Anna's out of the question, for sure. Elsa trusts Kristoff to take care of her sister better than herself, and so there is nothing that could ever convince her to break them up.

She frowns at herself for even letting the thought of Anna having an arranged marriage cross her mind. Using her own sister as a scapegoat?

She makes a frustrated noise and buries her head in her hands.

Mother, why did you have to die so young? Father – Fa- "-ther," She mutters, then grits her teeth. She looks up into the sky and tries to make sure the tears don't spill out of her eyes. They'll dry, they'll dry, they will dry.

She takes loud breaths and cleanches and unclenches her fists, trying to remain calm. "I'm twenty-one years old. I can't just cry about my problems like a child. I'm the queen. I'm the king. I'm the ruler," She says to herself.

Once should have been enough.

She's selfish to want another chance to let out her emotions. This time isn't even close to how long she pent up her frustration last time, and yet she yearns for the great feeling of freedom.

Once she's had a taste, she will always want more. She never understood the meaning of the idea before experiencing it herself. She never has and never will regret the day she left the kingdom and let herself go.

But sometimes she just wonders if it was the first and last time.

_That would not let me sleep. _

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	6. To Sleep

**VI**

**To Sleep**

She has never realized how very strange it is for people from the western world to visit Arendelle until now.

She sits across from the captain of a ship that was marooned for a week off the coast of their very own reef and listens to him as he speaks of his own land in the west.

'America', he calls it, and tells her of his wife and two children there.

It is interesting, their political system. It is not a king they have – "and never again!" the man insists with great vigor – but a _president_, an elected leader who is chosen based on his qualifications and not his blood.

"Wonderful," She thinks aloud, and the old man beams at her.

"Right, right? We managed to kick out King George and the rest of the British and now we're a completely independent nation. No country can survive a monarchy."

She gives him a small smile. The man seems not to have noticed his slip up to a queen herself, or does not seem to care, but she decides that she likes him.

He does not understand their language but she is well learned in his, so they can still communicate comfortably. Often, more than talking about the policies of his country, he brings up his family.

Within a few hours of his arrival she already knows about his beautiful wife; his older son who is about Anna's age and the biggest ball of fun, and his younger daughter who follows her brother around like a duckling. He tells her stories about them, his pride and joy, and tells her how excited he is to finally return home after three years of living at sea.

Once they've fitted the crew with a new ship she sends them off and as a farewell present, he gives her an envelope. "Something to remember us by!" He shouts from the deck of the ship, already almost a mile out.

It is a brief encounter but she sincerely hopes there will be another.

_But break,_

When she enters the castle again the sun is dipping below the horizon, dying everything a burnt shade of orange.

Unexpectedly, Felix, Anna, and Kristoff are all sitting outside eating when she enters the main hall.

"Elsa! You didn't tell me Hans' brother was visiting!"

It surprises her sister that Anna does not sound mad in the least. In fact, she sounds so casual, Elsa wonders what could possibly have gone on in the past few hours she's been gone.

"I…didn't have time to," she says.

When aforementioned prince walks into the room she stops holding her hands and instead brings them to her sides, standing up a little straighter, holding her head a little higher. This is the Queen of Arendelle, the figure she imitates from what she remembers of her father – man who would never show weakness to another.

"Queen Elsa," They both bow. "Would you like to accompany me for a walk through your gardens at this time?"

Again, she is so surprised at the stark contrast between him and his younger brother that she doesn't realize his hand is outstretched until Anna elbows her in the side.

"_Anna."_ And that one word is enough for Anna to flinch, then smile sheepishly. She knows her sister would never hurt her. She knows, she definitely knows, but then again, that's exactly what she had thought last time. And it had brought her this close to the face of death.

Elsa pretends not to notice her sister's primary reaction and shakes her head. "Of course," She finally takes his outstretched hand and lets him lead her to the gardens.

The hills are green with ankle-high grass for as far as the eye can see, with random curvy patterns emphasized on the ground with vibrant wildflowers. The gardeners work at an easy pace as they walk about, lighting any lamp they see before the sun shrouds them in darkness.

"I always preferred walking about just after dusk," He says conversationally, and she sighs in silent relief. This way, he can't see the light frost that follows her when her thoughts race in her mind.

_My heart;_

"I would like to clear something up,"

"Clear away," She mutters.

"When I spoke to you about the bond," he says without pausing, "I did not want you to feel as if you were pressured into marrying me,"

When confused, let the one who is more knowledgeable of the topic fill the silence.

"It can be any of my brothers, or my allies, or a soldier or anyone – I just wanted to tell you that, if you aren't comfortable, I am not your one option."

She blinks and they both stop under a cone of light by the pathway. Looking up at him, she finds his face strangely apathetic, devoid of any emotion but polite concern. She recognizes the expression as one she saw for years in the mirror; the look of isolated, obedient Elsa is reflected in his dark brown eyes.

"Prince Felix," He blinks at her usage of his first name. "I would also like to clear something up." Her eyes soften. "You see, in the first place, I already knew that my marriage would not be one of love, but of convenience," She tries to ignore how harsh her words sound.

"And if I had to make the choice to wed now, then I would rather marry you, whom I've known this long to be a proud man, than a man I haven't even met yet. And, to be honest, I do find you to be a good person. Apathetic, but good nonetheless."

He watches her with an unreadable expression and, because she'd feel awkward if she smiled, she does the same.

"I don't think I've met a more practical person in my life," but I must admit I don't hate it, Felix thinks, eyes running over her features. He usually stops himself from admiring a woman up close because it isn't befitting of a Crown Prince, instead listening to his little brothers rave about their marvelous adventures with the opposite sex.

She notices his wandering gaze and glances over to the side. Still she is not comfortable with being alone with a person for so long as this but she does not show it and instead opts to stay silent, leaving them both to ponder their choices.

_For I must hold my tongue. _

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	7. To Say We End the Heartache

**VII**

**To Say We End the Heartache**

It is right at dusk two days later when Elsa finds herself once more at the edge of the dock, bidding goodbye to another man she has recently met. Except this time, she knows he will be back.

She glances over at Anna and Kristoff who wave at the slowly shrinking boat on the horizon enthusiastically, completely unaware of the reason the Crown Prince of the Southern Isles visited in the first place.

She tells them she's heading back to her castle for the night and they both nod before heading back in the direction of the main one.

As she walks, she reads the enormous book she had to search everywhere in the library for. She needs to know something, anything, to try to figure out what is going on with her and her newfound obsession with the moon.

The book is one she remembers reading as a child; delivered from one of the Viking tribes in the South from a passing merchant, the book was one of few her mother read her as a child. When her mother died, she left Elsa the only person in Arendelle able to decipher the foreign language.

There are not many Viking stories about the moon, but this one is true as day; there once was a boy from the most dangerous of Viking clans, one who was always the strange one, the one no one ever spoke to. His father was the strongest and his mother the most beautiful, but he was never great in any such things. There was one day when he was summoned by the elders of the tribe and, having a disagreement, had stormed out of the hall. Without a word he went to the docks, pushed one of the longboats out to sea, rode out into the stormy waves, and never returned. Legend has it he was picked up by the trickster god Loki, who turned him into a spirit out of compassion, and gave him command over the Midgardian moon; there he stays and will stay for the rest of eternity.

"_Man'i," _She reads aloud, the word literally meaning 'the moon'. She knew she had read this before but had never paid any attention to it before now. Back then, she was a child – she didn't think much about sad legends or stories.

_Lord–_

Now, she feels a heavy weight on her chest. She stops when her shoes begin to sink in the snow-covered mountain top and glares at the ground. There are blurs in the corner of her vision but she manages to dry the tears before they can fall.

A kingdom of isolation.

The words ring in her ear, her own words, and she looks around her.

Her world is enormous and quiet. Black, white, and grey are the only colors that paint her home and she loves the pure simplicity of what she calls her own.

She imagines that it is exactly like this, alone on the moon. A completely silent world, untouched – _unblemished_ – by humanity. One of the places that are so far away that there's no way _possible_ to get there and – and _do _something to it.

She wonders if he can understand her, leaving of his own accord and then creating a silent kingdom of his own.

There is no one to hate him, to ignore him, to hurt him. He lives in a perfect world, alone. They are the same – except that she has an entire kingdom at the base of the mountain.

And he doesn't.

So there is no one to love him, to notice him, to help him.

She only notices that she's being bathed in moonlight when her shadow becomes large enough in front of her to be visible.

She looks up at the moon and tries to make something out of its surface. She sees a few grey spots but can see nothing resembling a figure, or a face.

She looks back to the book and frowns at it as if it's the paragraph's fault that she can't see a boy sitting on the three-quarter moon in the sky.

"Of course I can't see anything." It's just a story after all. What was I thinking – that I'd be the first to see a figure sitting on the edge of the moon?

She shuts the book (away from her face so that the dust flying out doesn't get in her eyes) and continues her trek up the mountainside.

The walk never actually bothered her. She loves the way everything looks so still when there's no wind. Everything is silent and suspended in time and she almost feels guilty for disturbing the peace.

_We know what we are,_

I'm "such an idiot." She mutters when she grips her sleeves. Only her mother's clothes are embroidered with red roses, and now she's trudging through the snow in one of her favourite dresses.

Just the fact that she can be so _stupid _as to do this a third time this week in_furi_ates her. How absolutely dense do you have to be to take out your dead mother's gowns and take a stupid walk up a snow-covered mountain?

She lets out a yell of frustration and the ground beneath her crystallizes into clear purple ice. Tucking the book under one arm, she starts speed walking towards her destination, icing everything in her path.

When she passes by the lake there's a long hiss before the entire lake is frozen over, cracking with intense cold. She feels the wind around her pick up and in her mind gives it a voice that spurs her on.

She runs a hand through her hair before setting to freezing the dewdrops on the trees in place so that when the wind blows through them they clink like a million glass bells.

As she weaves her way through the forest she's vaguely aware that she's still being illuminated by the moonlight and feels as though something watches her. She presses her fists to her temples in frustration.

Just because she reads the legend doesn't mean that something will actually be up there.

How pathetic – how _desperate_–

She lets out another meaningless shout and waves a hand above her. The snow cave that forms does nothing but distort the light that shines through.

"_What _is going _on_?" She asks. Brain, it's time for you to answer.

She looks down at her hands, still pink with clear lines in her wrists with blood pumping through them.

"Why do hands like _these_ look like any other person's hands?" She demands of the silence, but no answer finds its way to her ears.

She raises her hands and energy collects in her palms. She is ready to strike the ground with it, ready to let it _go_-

"Queen Elsa! Are you alright, Queen Elsa?"

Just as quickly as she summoned it the energy dies in her hands and she quickly clasps them in front of her.

A group of ice harvesters some feet ahead slow to a stop and they all tip their hats or bow to their ruler. One man – the one who called out to her – hops off his toboggan and takes a few steps in her direction.

"Are you alright?"

"I am, sir. Thank you for your concern; I was just thinking and it just – got a little out of hand," She lies to them to get them back on their journey to the village and watches them depart.

When she glances down at her sleeves, she finds their undersides frozen solid.

_But know not what we may be. _

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	8. To Dream

**VIII**

**To Dream**

She smiles when she hears Anna's ecstatic scream from the other side of the wing and almost laughs when her sister's speedy footsteps echo in the marble halls.

When Anna finally finds her sister sitting in the kitchen she races up to the blonde and hugs the life out of her. "Thank you! Thankyou thankyou thankyou!" She screams in her ear, and Elsa lets a chuckle escape her lips.

"But why'd you move _all_ of them to my room? Don't you want some too?"

How lucky she is to have such a perfect younger sister. Elsa pinches the brunette's nose. "Mother's clothes don't fit me. It looks like I took after father."

"Really? I think only your height was thanks to dad. Otherwise you look just like mom," The younger girl puts a hand on her chin and looks her sister up and down. "But thank you!"

They share a smile.

"How are wedding arrangements going?"

There's an audible sigh from the doorway before the other blond in Anna's life walks into the kitchen. Looking positively exhausted, he plops down on the stool beside his almost-sister-in-law.

"Please don't even bring it up," He mumbles, but Anna's already animatedly explaining every detail while making wide gestures and pacing around the counters. Elsa pats his back twice – the most she's sure she can do without her gloves on – and then pays perfect attention to her sister.

"-and I was thinking it should be you."

"_Me?"_ Her voices goes up an octave and she clears her throat.

Kristoff sits up. "Of course. Who else would it be?"

"That's-" She frowns, thinking. There really is no one else to walk Anna down the aisle. "-true."

"Yay! Now that that's cleared – we need to go pick up your suit~" She drags her husband out and, just as quickly as they came, they are gone.

Elsa returns to reading the leader she'd shoved under her leg when her sister had come into the room, her brow furrowing at its contents. She rereads it, then runs a hand through her hair in frustration.

There ought to be a world-wide law against such a blatant declaration of supposed superiority.

_Call me what instrument you will._

The letter is written in English, a language that she is not used to completely but knows enough about to be able to read. It's signed _King of Great Britain_, with no name attached.

It always irritates her that she didn't learn much history until recently and that she does not know as much about the size of the world as she should, but thankfully she knows enough about the ever-growing power beneath her own lands.

The entire letter, all three and a half pages, is basically a threat – if she makes an alliance with the Southern Isles and their allies, Great Britain will invade them within the week.

What scares her is that, not only is their nation almost twenty times the size of their own kingdom, but their navy is the largest – and the strongest – in all of the Atlantic. They have absolutely no chance, even with the Isles' allies involved.

And that's only if they even decide to get involved. Why jeopardize an entire web of interconnected countries for the sake of a single border kingdom?

She thinks about the recent expansions made to their ports, something greatly needed due to the fact that Arendelle's becoming a very, very busy stop on the newly opened trade route through their waters straight to the Russian Empire.

Sighing, she folds the letter back into her pocket and makes her way to her father's study, where a world map is painted on the far wall for her to see. She stands before it and her eyes race across the surface while her hands idly form little creations and magic them away just as quickly.

This is one of the many things that she's conflicted on of the many responsibilities she has as a queen. Despite the fact that she loves war strategy and theory, she hates to even think about it when actual people and places are involved.

"Madam,"

"Mister Andersen," Elsa replies, giving him a bow in greeting before returning her attention to the map on the wall.

"I just came to inform you of our current troubles," He says, then rattles off a long list of economic dues and unpaid debts and land loans and bad credit and–

_Though you can fret me,_

"I already _know _all this, Mister Andersen. What are you trying to say?" She doesn't mean to be rude but she's been on edge the entire past two weeks and she does _not_ want to return to her normal state just yet.

"What I'm _saying,"_ He replies and she manages not to wince at his scolding tone, "is that we are in need of help. We are in need of some serious financial aid, and we need it soon."

She finally turns away from the map and walks to one of the shelves as he talks. "Besides that fact, we are in the center of two forces about to clash, and we must choose a side quickly."

"Haven't we agreed to stay a neutral country?" She brings up the Old Russian Treaty, a small and private exchange between the Tsar to provide them with protection in exchange for various small favours.

"I'm afraid they won't be of any help to us right now."

"Why not?"

"They're expanding their empire." A pause. "It would be best to stay out of their sight for the time being."

"And allying ourselves with an opposing country will help us do that?" She shoots with heavy sarcasm and she can tell he is wondering what the _hell _is wrong with her, but he doesn't get angry at her.

He holds up a letter, stamped with Corona's Royal Seal. "This, madam. A letter from the king's advisors, telling us that no matter what decision we make, we must make it soon, for our entire continent is on the brink of war."

She grips the chair in front of her and it immediately gains a thick layer of dark blue crystal, going down its legs and spreading frost on the plush red carpet. She glares down at the frost as if it is the biggest problem.

"There are only so many options to keep Arendelle safe."

Her fingers dig into the carved wood and she watches the ice creep up the legs of the desk.

I know. You don't have to tell me.

"We don't have as much time as you think we do. We have to make a decision right now."

I _know_, Andersen. I've been working this country since I was eighteen years old. I _know._

"I hate to have to bring you to this-"

Then don't.

"-but there's one way to do this and get out with barely a scratch."

"Don't-"

"The Swedish proposal is still valid." He states, and she feels the brunt of his words like a kick to her gut.

"You-" want me to become a puppet?

_Become a figurehead in order to protect your people._

She hears the words though he does not speak them and her eyes pierce into his soul. He makes an exit and then she is left to stare at an empty doorway and she hate hates _hates_ what she will do and knows she will regret it for the rest of her life.

A pawn.

I won't let that be me.

_You cannot play upon me. _

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	9. To Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil

**IX**

**To Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil**

"Please, help me."

I can't do this alone.

I pray to any gods out there-

"_Why can't you sleep?"_

"'Praying to the gods' will save no one!"

I have not prayed before,

"_Elsa, are you alright?"_

"Yes, because it was I who asked to be a queen!"

A stamp and a seal, and a title.

"_Is something wrong?"_

"You will bring this kingdom to ruin!"

"_What's going on?"_

"I have been _leading_ this country since I was still learning age!"

Do not speak to me of leadership, because I know more of it-

"Is this what your father wanted you to become? A reckless _child_-"

-than you ever will.

"We are your _advisors_, we know what is best for the future of Arendelle."

Such ludicracy from the older daughter.

"_Do not _call me a child, none of you!"

"Control your powers!"

"_Control _your powers!"

Control my powers.

"_Elsa, what's wrong?"_

While the rest of Arendelle doesn't have to know-

"They bury themselves in ignorance-"

How _dare _you, you pompous _pig_-

"Hold your tongue, _witch_!"

"_Nothing, Anna. Go back to sleep."_

_We are oft to blame in this-_

"Think upon what we have discussed today, Queen Elsa. There lies much flaw in your logic." A final jab before the handful of old men shuffle out of the room with their noses pointed high in the air.

The moment the door – _her_ door – clicks shut behind them, a wave of frost coats everything in still, white flakes.

It is difficult, being the snow queen without being cold. Such a warm façade is not so easy to muster, but it seems to only be her who faces the challenge. She is reminded of this fact everyday she meets someone.

She glances out the window that looks so strange without the curtains drawn. Tendrils of light smoke are visible from the next village over where Olaf visits with Marshmallow (the name stuck) and how she wishes the embodiment of happiness was by her side.

She glances down at the frozen solid carpet below her and clenches her fists in frustration.

Why is it all so difficult? Why is it only one who has to either restrain every single emotion or put them all on display for the world?

Why is it only me?

"Elsa? Are you alright in there?"

"Anna?" Her voice cracks and she clears it, clasping her hands as she turns in the door's direction. "I'm alright. Just testing out my powers."

"Ooh, can I see?" The door opens and she takes a step in with wonder, not noticing as Elsa takes one with hesitation. "Wow, this is amazi-"

"Sorry, bathroom," Elsa blurts as she weaves past her sister and rushes out of the room in a flurry of cool snowflakes. It's been difficult just being alone in a room with one person for so long, let alone a group, and she is sure she cannot take much more.

How warm is the human body? – is what she writes across the top of the paper and thinks with the quill feather tickling her chin. She pinches her own skin, flesh that is abnormally cool and immune to immense cold.

How warm is the human body?

^average

She adds, just to keep things straight in case she ever decided to reread her notes and did not realize what she meant.

"An-" She stops herself midway through the name and glares at the warm balcony floor. She can hear her sister running around downstairs in preparation for her very own wedding, one that will come before her older sister's, driving everyone insane with how much she wanted to have done.

'_Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visage-_

She feels those goose bumps poke up on her skin again and she looks around for someone she is sure is watching, but sees no one. Her stomach begins to churn and she's so ready to vomit because _gods _she's been holding it in for the past week but she can't, not right now, not when she'll have to leave the confines of her father's study.

She almost cries with relief when the smell of him finally reaches her button nose because they've had so many visitors who come with their foreign scent and bury his, the master of the room, its original owner, and the one who will never visit it again.

Her mind slowly drifts away from the invisible eyes she _knows _are there and she makes her way to one of the book-filled columns. She's read every book on these shelves at least twice.

"I've read-" She clears her throat, then says in a louder voice, "I've read every book on these shelves at least twice." She picks up the one sitting on the desk behind her and brushes the cover off as if it could have collected dust since she last picked it up a few hours ago.

"This one is my favourite," She says matter-of-factly, flipping through the pages. "Although I've never told anyone. Even my father hated this man's writing. I think he only got the books for me."

Briefly she wonders who the _hell _she's talking to but before she loses something to vent on she says, "I never have time to read anymore. All I can do is pick up the book and stare at the cover and summon the characters into my mind before there's another war to stop."

She laughs at her joke and then hates herself for it.

"That's not funny. Not now that there _is _a war to stop." She leaves the book on the desk and goes back out to the warm balcony donning nothing but her white underclothes. "I don't know why foreign countries insist on getting smaller kingdoms caught up in their business. Are there no rules in Europe?

"I want to go to – to _Asia,_" She lets the word grind against her teeth before it pushes its way through them. "I've heard they look different there. That they have different cultures and customs. I want to go there to – ok, I'm not going to lie, I mainly want to eat their food – but I also want to see the world.

"I don't know why I'm saying this to an inanimate object but if you really are that boy that the Tribals write about then I feel like someone should talk to you."

There's a clutter-clang-crash as something (a bunch of somethings) fall and shatter against the kitchen floors and shatter.

"_Miss Anna_!" The cook screams, eliciting a giggle from the Queen.

"I'm going insane."

_And pious action we do sugar o'er,_

The words leave her lips and immediately she feels a breeze by her ear and she wants to scream but that will call _people _into her room, people who will _talk_ and _question_ and _wonder_ and she does not, does not, does _not _want to speak to someone who will reply in the way she knows they will.

So she settles for sliding down, leaning her side against one of the waist-high white pillars of the balcony fence, and staring out to the sky.

"Do people really believe that monarchy is that horrible?"

The moon doesn't answer.

"This one-sided conversation's going to get really tiring really fast if you don't do something magical soon," She threatens, but the moon does not waver. "Please?" Nothing. "A queen is on her knees before you, will you not waver?"

No, it seems to answer.

A small trio of flakes dances before her eyes before rolling away with the wind and her eyes widen.

"Oh my-" Did I do that? There's no way. She looks to her left, her right, above and below, but there is no one there. "Was that you?" The moon is officially more stubborn than her sister. "Are you mute?"

That happens to be one of the rudest things she has ever said, besides the occasional English curse that no one in her kingdom can understand.

It is also one of the stupidest but she's going insane.

She feels frustration, suddenly, but somehow the emotion is not hers. Not organically hers, anyway. Is it the moon? Her neck hurts from looking up at it so much and it seems to be asking her 'what is up with you and your recent lunar obsession?' but she doesn't let the thought complete itself before she waves it off.

She feels disappointment and now, she is sure the emotion is not her own.

_The devil himself. _

…

Thank you for reading. (And sorry for the late update, readers.)

-ctd


	10. To Give Us Pause

**X**

**To Give Us Pause**

"Yuuki_hi_me."

"Yuukihime."

"No no; your emphasis is on the wrong syllable. It's on the 'hi', not the 'ki'. Yuuki_hi_me."

"Yuuki_hi_me."

"Perfect!" The old man claps excitedly, and Elsa feels ridiculous getting so happy over the pronunciation of one word. "It means 'princess of snow', much like you!" He continues, pointing at her.

She smiles at him. "It sounds wonderful."

"Ah but the story is very sad," His expression almost makes her laugh. "I will not tell you because you will also feel sad. Maybe next time."

"Alright," She says as the man finally acquiesces to her request for him to _get some rest_. From what she's heard, a week long journey by sea is not the ideal way to spend midsummer.

The moment a butler escorts the Japanese guest away the small advisor is by her side and whispering, "Tell me you haven't noticed the unbelievable amount of foreigners we've been having lately."

And she doesn't reply because she _has _noticed, and it's scaring her.

The Norwegian princes from both the Southern and Western Isles, the British traders, the merchant from the new land America and now, this small scholar from the islands of Asia – from _Japan_.

She moves to leave the meeting room but he stands in her way, looking even sterner than he did yesterday when the Scandinavian advisors had all but verbally beat her.

"We're having an unusually high amount of visitors around the time of your younger sister's wedding, my lady. It would do you good not to talk to yourself in the middle of the night and instead work on something productive."

She forces the blush back down her neck and replies with a small nod and a short "Alright." How did _he _know?

He bows and makes his exit and she watches his figure disappear.

It's like there's no end to the conflict. She's been the official queen for just over a couple of months and now, a war is starting? Are the gods playing with her for their amusement, putting her in all of these impossible situations?

Anna's wedding is at nine in the morning tomorrow, thirteen hours from now.

It's just one thing after another, along with the constant worrying over the foreigners staying in the village and insisting on meeting the royal family of two-almost-three, and the wedding of her sister and ice-buddy, and her own impending matrimonial alliance, and the fact that her powers just won't stay under _control-_

She lets out a short shout of frustration and whips her hand out to the side, sending crystalline daggers to embed themselves into the purple painted pillars. She brings both hands back to her temples, rubbing them in the way she always did when frustrated.

"Why does everything have to be so unnecessarily _difficult?_" She mutters.

She begins to angrily pace across the room, throwing off her shoes and gloves in the process. Who had any business in the library right now, anyhow?

Not _Anna_, who's too busy blissfully planning her wedding–

_So full of artless jealousy is guilt;_

Immediately she hates hates _hates _herself for thinking of her loving sister with such malice and she fists her hands in her hair, subconsciously punishing herself but also venting on something that won't damage the furniture.

Anna deserves this, Anna deserves this.

Anna deserves this.

It's about time her little sister had something good happen to her in life without it being taken away a few hours later.

The platinum blonde turns toward the balcony and pushes the double doors open. The night air rushes to meet her as she strides outside and into the moonlight once again, waiting for the beams to 'speak' to her as they had been doing for the past sleepless nights.

She leans over the marble rail as far as she can go and reaches, really reaches, for the bright white body in front of her. She struggles to capture and hold it in her hands, to speak to it like she would an old friend, to listen to it like she would a kind lover.

There is nothing she desires more than the company of one who would _understand_, because thoughts become 'just words' the moment they leave the lips and there is no way she can describe nor explain this inner conflict, this emotional civil war, raging in her own bottled mind.

"Please," She begs the cold. "Please." Frost begins to form beneath the palm securing her to the balcony but she ignores it, trying to get as close to the light as possible. She is so desperate it doesn't occur to her to make herself a pathway of some sort or to send a line up because really, how far could the moon actually be?

"Too far." She answers her own unspoken question. She feels a burning in her upper arm and shoulder but keeps reaching, hoping, begging to grasp that light.

She wants to give up but feels something pull her towards it, then push her forwards, as if the darkness itself wants her to keep going.

She's always been afraid of falling.

_Don't look down._

She forces herself to follow the advice she always told Anna, her story characters, the people in legends, that she told everyone. _Don't look down._

She exhales in a loud huff and inhales with another stretch and _something_ in her arm is burning but she keeps her focus on the object in the distance. She can just _feel _the laughter that she'd hear if someone decided to walk in right now.

"It's closer than Japan," She reasons with herself, pushing even further up on her toes. "Not proven but for now it can be closer than Japan."

She feels warmth behind her like someone is there but she sees nothing, not even a shadow, and she does not care to see anyone right now. The moon, the shining moon is right _there_.

She doesn't know what she'll do when she reaches it but she hopes for a change.

_It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. _

…

Thank you for reading.

-ctd


	11. To Bestride the Narrow World

_XI_

_To Bestride the Narrow World like a Colossus_

At first, she thinks it is something of her own creation.

The beautiful slim figure that stands beside her, his large grey eyes fixated on the same thing on which she was too just a moment before, mouths something that she is too stunned to comprehend. Perhaps he isn't even speaking to her.

The tears fall; she struggles to catch them in her small pale hands but fails. The droplets slip through her fingers like what she believes to be her last shred of sanity. A single choked sob cuts its way from her throat and he notices.

"What–" he crosses to her in three strides and runs his hands through his hair frustratedly."Are you okay?" He tries and doesn't seem surprised when she doesn't reply.

She's a queen, a _ruler_, she can't be seen like this by some random person, by some _foreigner_ she hasn't even officially met, one who had somehow gotten into the castle, yet—

Yet,

Yet.

Yet she doesn't care in this moment, because what can he do?

She tilts her head up and wipes the tears with the heels of her hands, pushing down on her eyelids. Her chest heaves.

"Oh my – look, I'm sor—" he touches her arm and falls in silent shock.

She doesn't even react to his touch, just keeps trying to pull herself together while at the same time letting herself go.

At her sharp sob he snaps out of his reverie and awkwardly brings his hand to her back. He rubs slowly up and down the folds of her gown and she doesn't seem to notice but he hears her cries get significantly louder, but still contained.

She mumbles something he makes out to be an apology before being cut off by a hiccup; he says nothing in reply, really unsure of what to do to help her.

He only offers her his silent company and she accepts it gratefully.

_On such a full sea we are now afloat,_

"Thank you, and I'm sorry again."

"And I've told you, don't worry about it," The white-haired boy across from her replies, his wooden staff balancing between his crossed legs. "You've been looking like you needed that for almost the entire time I've seen you."

The platinum blonde sits a coffee table away, cradling a steaming cup of tea in her hands. "How long have you been around, exactly?"

"'bout a week."

She scrunches up her nose in thought and thinks back to a few minutes ago when her maid had brought her tea and hadn't noticed the young boy in the room at all. She hadn't seen nor heard him, leaving Elsa confused.

Is he really just a figment of her imagination? Has her sanity really drifted that far, where she's so desperate she has to create her own company?

His voice brings her back to reality. "-e say back?"

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

He does. "You talk to the moon, right? What does he say back?"

She feels tongue-tied. Uh – I – assuming it's a 'he', I don't – I don't really think he replies," She informs lamely.

He is clearly unsatisfied with the answer but all he does is look out to the now-locked balcony. "He's supposed to," He mutters so quietly she almost doesn't catch it.

"Are you from Great Britain?"

He returns his focus to her. "Why would you think that?"

"I – uh – well, you speak English."

He finds that explanation enough. "Well actually, I'm American."

"The new country?"

"Well, fairly new. It's been around for longer than I have, I'm pretty sure."

She nods then takes a moment to organize the priorities in her head. "I'm sorry – how did you get up here?"

"I flew." He replies simply, fingering his frosty fringe.

Her mind races. He flew? (She believes him already for some reason) but if he flew, then – then – "Were you cursed, too?" She says, but her voice drops to a whisper halfway through the question.

A curse?

_And we must take the current when it serves,_

"Is it really a curse?" he speaks her thoughts and again she does not know what to say.

"I – I'm not sure."

He stands, too full of energy to just sit down and talk to someone, and begins looking around the room as he speaks. "There's downsides," He admits, tossing a small snowflake figurine into the air, "But I wouldn't call it a curse. Not really." He catches it and then sets it back on the shelf, looking for something else to play with.

She finds herself admiring his lack of pessimism, frowning at herself.

"I guess, flying isn't so bad." The blue-eyed queen pauses. "Do you have wings?"

He chuckles. "No. That _would_ be pretty cool, though."

She agrees with a smile before sipping her tea. She blushes when the slurp comes louder than is polite but he doesn't notice, or he doesn't mention it.

"I can also do this," he snaps his fingers in her direction where she's drinking her tea and it freezes against her lips.

He laughs as she struggles to detach herself from the iced tea. Surprise quickly overtakes anger and embarrassment. She jumps up. "You have ice powers as well?"

"Yup." He pops the 'p' like the child he looks to be.

"That's—" and she doesn't know how to end the sentence, so she just stands there with shock painted on her features. _Great? Wonderful? Sad? Lonely? Just like me?_

He patiently turns back to the shelf.

His hand stops on the cerulean binding of a fairytale she's read a thousand times before he pulls it out, staring hard at the cover.

"_Jack Frost_." She reads the spine and his head jerks in her direction. "Do you know it?"

He gives a strained laugh before shutting the book. "Do I know it?" He holds up the book in his right hand, tendrils of frost snaking across the cover. "Queen Elsa, if you haven't realized it already, I _am_ Jack Frost."

_Or lose our ventures. _

…

Thank you for reading. (Since I probably won't be able to update tomorrow, here's the Monday chapter.)

-ctd


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